


Dropping Hints

by someofthissomeofthat11011



Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someofthissomeofthat11011/pseuds/someofthissomeofthat11011
Summary: Simon and Bram are paired up to work on a project in English right after winter break. They have about three weeks to work on the project in class and they really get to know each other in that time. Bram starts to drop hints left and right, but Simon is kind of oblivious.





	Dropping Hints

I stare down at the project that Mr. Wise just passed out. It’s this thick packet of expectations and grading criteria for a project he’s been assigning to his AP English class since he started working at this school. It seems cruel to give us a project worth this much of our grade right when we get back from winter break. Most of us are still tired and groggy from having two weeks off.

And what’s worse is that the next three weeks will be spent working on this with another person in the class. I hate group projects. I always seem to end up with someone that either doesn’t want to do any of the work or someone who doesn’t trust me to do any of the work. They are equally frustrating group roles.

Mr. Wise has already paired us up and I’m anxious to see who I’m with. He said we’re paired up so we’re with someone that was within a few points of our midterm grade so that we’re more likely to work as equals. He hasn’t told us how we did on the midterm yet, but I don’t think I did too badly. That means nothing if someone I know didn’t score close to me.

I really hope it’s Leah, Abby, or Nick, but even if it’s not one of them, I need it to not be Martin. I would rather do this entire project by myself than work with him. Especially after he outed me over winter break, I never want to talk to him again. If I had my way, I’d never see him again. He tried to catch my attention when I got to class, but I went straight to a desk in the back of the classroom and didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I didn’t even try to get a seat on the couch.

When Mr. Wise brings up the partner list for this project, I realize that either everyone else did really poorly on the midterm or Mr. Wise made a big mistake when it came to comparing grades. I’m with Bram Greenfeld. He’s really smart. Like genius smart. Mr. Wise has given me enough of his papers for me to know that he has to have gotten close to a 100 on his midterm. I don’t know whether being paired with Bram is a good or a bad thing. He’s quiet, so I don’t know much about him, but what if he ends up being a complete homophobe? For all I know, he could have planned to sit at a different lunch table and completely avoid me today.

Mr. Wise goes on and on about the project and what his expectations are for it. We pretty much have to recreate a book of our choosing by taking pictures around the school that are representative of each chapter of the book. I don’t actually understand how this will prepare us for the AP exam, but Mr. Wise seems really excited about this project. I’ve heard students from previous years talk about it and they all seem to enjoy it. He says “creativity is key” about 10 different times and let’s us know that we will have to present our projects at the end of January. He lets us know we have to sign up for a presentation slot before class gets out. We’ll have three weeks to work on it in class, which would be great, but I wish I would have had a little time after the play is over to work on it. Presentations literally start the day after the play. I’m going to be a pretty crummy partner. I decide almost immediately that I’m not going to bring up what happened over winter break. If Bram has anything to say about it, it’s on him to say it.

As Mr. Wise talks about the project, I prepare an entire argument to convince Bram why we should grab the second slot on the second day of presentations. Whenever we have to do presentations, he’s always first so I plan arguments and counter arguments that I’m pretty sure would prove to my sophomore year debate teacher that I am, in fact, not incapable of forming a solid argument. When Mr. Wise lets us break up into our groups, Bram immediately agrees to my requested presentation slot without me needing to go through my selling points.

Once I secure our presentation slot, I sit on the arm of the couch next to Bram. There are way too many people crammed on the couch right now and it’s so freaking loud in here. Plus, I’m painfully aware that a lot of the conversation in the room has nothing to do with the project and everything to do with me. “Do you want to go out in the hallway?” I ask him.

One of the perks of this project is we will pretty much have free reign at school. While sitting on the couch is great compared to sitting at a desk for an hour, wandering the school is even better. He nods and rises to his feet.

“We’re going to get started,” I tell Mr. Wise as we leave. He nods at us as we leave with our stuff. There’s still forty minutes left of class, so he’s putting an awful lot of trust in us. I guess that’s the perk of being AP English nerds and the perk of all the teachers in this school feeling REALLY bad for me. Bram is quiet as we walk. I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else from him. He’s quiet on the best of days and I would bet he has no idea what to say to me. “What do you think of ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone’ for our book?” I ask him curiously.

“I’ve never read it, but I’m down for anything,” he tells me.

I stare at him. “You’ve never read Harry Potter?” I ask. I open my bag and pull out my copy of ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone’.

“Do you just carry that around?” He asks. There’s a hint of laughter in his voice.

It’s actually a complete coincidence that I have this right now. I had grabbed it to prove a point to Nora this morning. She had tried to tell me that kids aren’t that bad and I whipped it open to read excerpts about Draco Malfoy - I love Draco, but he’s an asshole. By the time I had given her my whole spiel, we were almost late so I had just put it in my bag as we were running out the door. But that makes me sound crazy, so I’m not going to explain all that to Bram. “No, just today. And it’s a good thing I have it, because you are about to be immersed into the magical world of Harry Potter.”

I open to the first page. “You’re not really about to read that out loud.” He looks so concerned, it almost makes me laugh.

I look him right in the eye as I begin reciting from memory, “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four Privet Drive…” I’m not even ashamed to admit that I have the whole first page memorized, so I don’t need to look down at the book until I turn the page.

I actually don’t plan to read the whole chapter out loud, but Bram gets to into the story and the beginning is kind of slow, so that’s saying something. We both sit down a minute into the chapter and I actually don’t mind the hard floor. I get lost in his reaction sometimes and before I know it, the chapter is over. I fold up a piece of paper that I had half taken History notes on and put it in the book to mark our place. “So thoughts for the first chapter?”

“So the whole point of this is to represent the story in a school setting, right?” Bram confirms.

“Yeah. And we have to put together a slideshow of the pictures we take,” I tell him. “And give a fifteen minute presentation.”

He nods. “What if we do short videos instead? It will be like a Vine for each chapter, but potentially a little longer.”

“What did you have in mind for this first one?” I ask.

“That last line,” he said. “To Harry Potter - the boy who lived. Or… oh, what did he say. Best of luck Harry or something like that.”

“I love it,” I say earnestly. “If we want to make it a little longer, we could do the whole delivering Harry to the doorstep scene and then we could get fake champagne flasks and pretend to toast that last line.”

Bram chuckles. “If you want to go that big, we’re going to need to do more planning than we can get done in school,” he points out. “I’m going to be missing a couple of days during this project, so we’re probably going to have to meet up every now and then.”

“For Harry Potter, I’m okay with that,” I assure him. “I have play practice four days a week, but if you’re okay with working on this a couple of days after that, I think we’ll manage. If you want to plan it all out, I can come over after play practice today.”

Bram smiles. “I don’t mind the extra work.” It occurs to me then that I don’t really know much about him. I’ve talked to him more in the last couple of minutes than I ever have before.

“You like stuff like this, huh?” I ask.

He shrugs and regards me carefully for a moment. “My dad is an English teacher, so I think it’s in my genes,” he tells me.

I frown. His words feel like deja vu and I have no idea why. “Do you want to be an English teacher?”

“I want to be an English professor,” he tells me. “And maybe eventually get into editting or something like that after I get my Master’s and Doctorate. The idea of being able to impact a book, maybe have some influence on some of the smaller plot points, and make it as readable as possible is really appealing to me.”

I can barely wrap my head around the idea of college, so the fact that he’s already thinking about school after that blows my mind. “Wow. Your Master’s and Doctorate. That’s a lot of school.”

“I like school,” he admits. “Something about the endless possibilities and that it gives me the opportunity to learn something I wouldn’t otherwise. Does that make me seem like a complete nerd?”

“Yes,” I say with a big smile. I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that I like that he’s a nerd. He hasn’t said anything weird about my being outed yet and I don’t want anything to change that. He ducks his head a little and it strikes me that he’s cute. Like really cute. Like it should be illegal to be that cute. I’m kind of surprised to find that I want to know more. This is the first time I’ve really talked to Bram and I kind of feel like I’ve been missing out on something. “So do you want to get your degrees in editing?” I don’t even know if that’s a thing.

He chuckles. “Find me a school that has Book Editing as a major and I definitely will. No, I actually…” he glances at me then looks back down at the floor. “It’s probably boring.”

In all honesty, I probably would usually be bored out of my mind by this kind of stuff - I had fake yawned in Nick’s face when he said he might want to go to college for history and philosophy, but I find myself wanting to know. “It’s not boring. What were you going to say?”

He looks at me uncertainly, but something in my expression must have convinced him I genuinely want to know, because he says, “Columbia is my dream school. They have this really cool English program that gets you two Master’s degrees and a PhD in six years.”

“Wow. Six extra years?” I can’t help it as my eyes widen. I literally cannot wrap my head around someone wanting to go to school for six extra years. That’s ten years of college. I feel nauseous.

He nods. “But you get to learn so much in that time. And there’s the opportunity to teach,” he tells me.

I can’t help but smile with him. He looks so happy when he thinks about this program. He clearly has all of his shit together and honestly it isn’t fair. People like Bram Greenfeld make the rest of us look bad… though, I don’t think Bram’s the only one making me look bad right now. Plus, he looks so happy it’s hard to be upset with him.

“That’s really cool. I think it’s great that you’re already looking into things like that,” I tell him.

“I need something to talk to my parents about,” he admits. “They’re divorced and… they don’t really know much about me. I try to keep things kind of need-to-know with them.”

I frown. “Is there a reason for that?” I ask curiously.

“Do you ever feel like there’s a part of you that the world can’t possibly understand?” He asks me. His deep brown eyes look at me as if he can see through to my soul.

His question almost makes me laugh, because hello? Recently outed to the world because some asshole thought my coming out was the perfect blackmail opportunity. I’m the king of the-world-can’t-possibly-understand. Instead of saying all that, I just say, “yeah.”

“Right,” he says guiltily. “I guess that was kind of a stupid question.”

“Kinda,” I agree. I let out a deep breath and it sounds a little huffier than I mean it to.

“Sorry and I’m sure you’ve gotten this a lot today, but you didn’t deserve what happened.”

Maybe it’s because of the way he says it - like he really means it or because he sounds like he’s bothering me by saying it or the fact that he thinks so many people should have said it to me, but I feel like crying. “You’re actually the first one to say that,” I admit softly. I am not going to have a breakdown in the middle of school and definitely not this early into my day. If I can’t deal with Bram saying that I didn’t deserve to be outed than I’m in for a really freaking long day.

“Oh.” He looks like he’s trying to make a decision about something. “Simon-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the bell rings and we both head to Algebra. During lunch, Bram doesn’t say a word. Instead, he slips me his number. The way he does it kind of makes me blush. I know he’s giving me his number because we’re working on a project together, but it’s easy to think that this is how a guy that might be interested might give me his number. Bram’s never talked about it, but I kind of always assumed he was straight and I’m pretty sure I’m not wrong. I don’t know what it is. Maybe that he plays soccer - which in retrospect has nothing to do with whether or not someone is gay - or that I’m just not lucky enough for him to be gay. There’s no use letting myself think about him or hope that he might be gay. I would just be setting myself up for heartbreak.

Because they block the wireless at school, I have to wait until I’m sitting in my car after play practice to text him. I know I shouldn’t be overthinking it and that it shouldn’t take me over ten minutes to write  _ hey, it’s Simon _ . But I am and it does.

Bram’s answer is almost instantaneous.  _ Hey. How was play practice? _

I frown. Play practice had been pretty god-awful and I’m not sure I want to talk about it. Some guys had pressed up like me, glasses and all and they had some signs… play practice had gotten out early and all I wanted to do was escape, but I don’t know that such an escape exists.  _ It could have been better. _

Once again, his response is instantaneous.  _ I’m sorry to hear that. Do you still want to work on the project? We don’t have to if you don’t feel up to it.  _ I sigh. I don’t know that I want to work on the project, but I also know if I go home, I’m going to play what those guys did over and over in my head. A minute later, my phone buzzes again and I glance back down.  _ Or you can just come over - no project necessary. _

My stomach churns and I know it’s ridiculous to work myself up over a text message, but Bram has never done this before. We’ve never tried to hang out before and I feel like it should be weird, but I’m just kind of excited.  _ I’ll be there in 5. _

I know where Bram lives because I’ve picked up Nick from there before. It doesn’t take me long to get there and I practically run to his front door. Okay, I’m really going to scare him if I don’t calm down. But I think maybe those football players broke something in me because I can’t seem to get a handle on my emotions.

I ring his doorbell hoping that I look better on the outside than I feel on the inside. Bram opens the door and his smile literally makes him look gorgeous. “Hey,” he says softly. He has this way of saying it, like he carefully picked the word just for me. He steps aside so I can come in and I drink in his foyer. It’s all dark hardwood and pale walls that are almost covered in picture frames. I want to look at every single one of them, but I have a feeling that would be weird. “I hope you like spaghetti.”

I follow him to his living room. In my living room, everything is light or white. His living room is almost the exact opposite. Deep brown couches, dark furnitures, and accent walls. It doesn’t seem gloomy or anything like that. In fact, the colors kind of make it seem big and open. The light from the window makes the walls seem like they are emitting light themselves. 

“Love it,” I say quickly. I’m actually kind of indifferent towards pasta, but my mom usually makes these delicious parmesan meatballs to go with pasta and that’s really the selling point for me. But I can suck it up for one meal.

“Good.” He suddenly look nervous and he takes a seat on one of the couches. I sit on the opposite end from him. “You should know, my mom is pretty health conscious. So we don’t actually use noodles when she makes spaghetti. She’s a big fan of zucchini pasta.”

“What does that even mean?” I ask.

“She has this thing that literally turns zucchini into noodles,” he tells me. “And she does the homemade sauce and these really good turkey meatballs. It’s absolutely delicious, but I might just be used to it so if you don’t like it, you’re under no obligation to eat it.”

I shrug. “I’m not worried. I eat just about everything,” I assure him.

He chuckles and it’s like music to my ears. Jesus Christ. What is wrong with me?

“So do you want to talk about play practice?” He asks uncertainly.

I look at him and all I see is concern. He’s not asking out of curiosity or because he wants a juicy piece of gossip. He actually cares. I didn’t think I would want to talk, but I find myself telling him about it. “There were these football players that stood in the back of the auditorium and they had these signs. One of them said… it doesn’t matter. Let’s just say they are assholes. No offense, but jocks can literally be the worst sometimes.”

“I’m not offended, because you’re not wrong. Jocks can be the worst,” he says seriously. “Most are complete douchebags. I don’t play soccer for the companionship.”

I study him for a moment. “So you’re not friends with the guys on the soccer team?” I ask skeptically.

He shrugs. “Not really. I trust them when we’re playing the game, because that’s what practice is for. We’re a team, but that doesn’t make us friends. With the exception of Garrett, I don’t trust any of them enough to tell them what I had for breakfast.”

“Garrett’s your best friend?” It’s weird. I never really gave much thought to Bram having friends, but now that I think about it I never see him talk to anyone at school - not even Garrett.

“Yeah,” Bram says with a small smile. “I know he doesn’t make the best first impression. Believe me. The first time I met him, he sat down next to me at lunch and took a bite of my sandwich because he thought it would be funny. But when you get to know him, he’s really great. He’s always there when I need him. We’ve joked that he’s the kind of friend that if you turned up at his front door with a dead body, he’d help you bury it and wouldn’t ask any questions.”

“That’s really freaking concerning, but I guess I don’t really know him all that well,” I say with a sigh. I kind of feel like I’m missing out on something. “Who else do you hang out with?”

“Not many people,” Bram admits. He fidgets uncomfortably.

“Why not?” He’s not particularly difficult to talk to and he’s a good guy so I don’t understand why he doesn’t have more friends.

He hesitates and chews on his lip. “You know I moved here freshman year?” He confirms. “My mom doesn’t know this, but the day she found out she was being transferred was honestly one of the best days of my life. I was what some people would call popular at my old school, but in the worst way possible. Kids loved to make fun of me and towards the end it got pretty bad. They were pushing me into lockers and…” He closes his eyes tight.

Instinctively, I move a little closer to him. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it,” I say seriously.

“No, it’s fine,” he tells me. But he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, so I kind of doubt that. 

I gently put my hand on his shoulder. “Seriously. You don’t need to tell me.”

“I think I want to.” He finally opens his eyes and looks at me. “I’ve told Garrett bits and pieces of it, but I’ve spent a lot of time pretending it didn’t happen. I was always the outcast at my old school. My teachers always gave me special attention because they could see none of the kids were talking to me, but that made kids avoid me more. It was this endless cycle. And at the center of it all was this kid Kris Gregor. I never really figured out why he hated me so much, but he used to call me all sorts of names. For like a month after I’d gotten a pretty bad haircut that made my ears stick out, he called me Dumbo every time he saw me. And when I was giving a presentation in history and instead of saying flag I accidentally said fag, guess what he started calling me. That nickname stuck until I left.”

That at least I could empathise with. “That sounds rough.”

“It was. You’d know that as well as I would. There was no break from it and I couldn’t tell my mom. That would just make things worse. So when we moved here, I wanted things to be different. I stayed out of people’s way. I didn’t talk to anyone. The most I did to stand out was join the soccer team,” he explains.

I bite my lip. “I understand where you’re coming from, but it’s gotta be lonely with just Garrett. There’s no harm in letting a few more people in.”

He looks me right in the eye. “I’m starting to realize that.”

His words make me feel really warm and I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re sitting and that it would be so easy to kiss him. For a second, I think I might do it. I don’t know what he wants, but he’s made no attempt to move and I see his eyes dart to my lips. How can he be straight and be looking at me like that?

Before I have the chance to make up my mind or finish my internal debate about whether or not he’s straight, his mom walks in. “Dinner in five,” she tells us.

“Thanks,” Bram says gruffly. He stands up and takes a few steps away from where he was sitting to stretch.

After a moment, I do the same and we don’t talk about what happened between us. It turns out that his mom’s health-conscious zucchini dinner is freaking delicious. I’m not even joking. I can barely tell that the pasta is literally a vegetable or that the sauce is made from fresh tomatoes and is minimally seasoned or that the meatballs are made from turkeys and are chock full of veggies. It is quite possibly the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten and I waste no time in telling his mom that.

She looks at me weird at the start of dinner and I’m worried that I’m breaking some kind of Greenfeld dinner rule. But when I ask Bram about it, he just glares at his mom and shakes his head. I have no idea what just happened, but she stops staring at me so that’s a relief.

“Mom, Simon and I are working on an English project together,” Bram says after a moment. “We’re in the same AP English class.”

Bram’s mom looks almost disappointed, but she hides that quickly. Maybe this is why Bram keeps things need to know with his parents. It's kind of confusing.

“What’s the project?” She asks.

“We have to put together a presentation of pictures or videos from around school related to a book of our choosing,” Bram explains. “We’re doing Harry Potter. I started reading it today. It’s pretty good.”

“That sounds like a fun project,” she observes.

“It has been so far. We mostly did some planning today, but we get to start filming our video clips tomorrow, so that will be fun,” he tells her.

“That’s wonderful.” She smiles. Her smile reminds me of Bram’s. “Did you talk to all your teachers?”

“Yeah. They were all pretty good about it. Mr. Alfonsi wants to talk to you to make sure I’m not making it up. He said he left you a voicemail and Coach wants you to write a note excusing me from soccer practice,” Bram tells her.

“I’ll have that note for you tomorrow. I don’t think I got anything from Mr. Alfonsi. I’ll send him an email in the morning, but do me a favor and remind him that since I’m not his student, I do not need to write emails in Italian.”

“I think I’ll let you pick that battle,” Bram says. He has this weird little smile and knowing look in his eyes.

I’m dying to ask, but I figure if Bram wants me to know, he’ll tell me. In the middle of dinner, I put down my fork and stare out the window. “It’s snowing,” I say. It’s pretty rare to see snow and we didn’t get any last year, so this is especially exciting.

“So it is,” Bram agrees. I turn to look at him and I’m a little embarrassed to realize he is staring at me and not the snow.

After dinner, Bram and I help his mom clean up and she almost immediately goes to bed. “She wakes up at like 3 because she has to be at the hospital by 5,” he explains. He peeks around the corner and when he confirms that his mom is really upstairs, he opens one of the tallest cabinets in the kitchen. “Perks of being almost two feet taller than my mom. I’ve got a secret stash.” He pulls out a plastic container of hot cocoa mix. It’s even the kind with mini marshmallows, which is statistically better than every other kind. “Want some? Something about snow always makes me want a cup of cocoa.”

“I’d love some!” I have a feeling the cup of cocoa is going to completely negate the health benefits of our dinner, but I don’t care.

While he puts on the cocoa, I pull out my phone. I usually hate sending emails from my phone because I’m 1000% more likely to make some type of typo, but I don’t want to wait to send an email to Blue. What if it’s not snowing when I get home? Which is likely, because my mom might actually kill me if I try to drive in the snow. My email is short and I double and triple check it to make sure I don’t have any really bad typos before I press send. I hear Bram’s phone ding, but he makes no attempt to look at it. He’s stirring the cocoa in a pot and the smell of warm chocolate is starting to fill the room.

It only takes a couple of minutes for him to have two steaming mugs of hot cocoa. The mini marshmallows have long since disappeared, but he opens that cabinet and pulls out a pack of oreos and a small bag of mini marshmallows. God I’m pretty sure I’ve never loved someone more than I love him in that moment. But then I think of Blue and I know that’s not true and I know that if he could, Blue would probably have an unlimited supply of Oreos for me.

At first he tries to balance everything, but that looks like he’s setting himself up for failure, so I grab the Oreos and marshmallows and follow him back to his living room. He sits on the floor, so I do the same. “When are you going to be out?” I ask curiously.

“Next Thursday and Friday,” he says quietly. He has this weird look on his face as he continues, “I’m going to be in Savannah visiting my dad through my birthday.”

“Oh, you’re birthday’s coming up?” I ask curiously.

“Yeah. January 18th.”

My heart beats a little faster at that and I have no idea why. I feel like my hormones are like YES BRAM, but the rest of me is like HEY, REMEMBER BLUE? And it’s all very confusing.

“So you take Italian?” I ask. “What did you do to make Mr. Alfonsi think that your untrustworthy?” In English and Algebra, he has our teachers wrapped around his finger and I just kinda assumed every teacher was like that.

Bram chuckles. “Oh, he trusts me. That has nothing to do with me.”

“Then what is it?”

“Mr. Alfonsi has a huge crush on my mom, but she has a strict no dating my teachers policy. So they just kind of flirt with each other. It’s really weird, but kind of sweet,” Bram explains. “I don’t really know how to feel about it. Part of me thinks I should tell her to go for it, because I’m the only reason she’s not dating him. And I know from experience that if you like someone, no one should get in the way of that.”

I can’t think about that last part right now, because that means he likes someone and I can’t deal with that on top of everything else. I shouldn’t be thinking about him in the first place, because it’s going to be so much harder when I get confirmation that he’s straight. But the first part is easy enough. “That sounds like a lose-lose situation. I mean, she either dates your teacher or she is lonely because she doesn’t date your teacher.”

“Thanks. I know exactly what to do now,” Bram says sarcastically.

“Sorry. I’m curious. What don’t you like about your mom dating your teacher?” Maybe it’s because my parents aren’t divorced, but I didn’t think I would be all that upset about it if I were in his shoes. “I mean, I know that it would be a little awkward for you, but it seems like it might be worth it,” I tell him. “And it’s not like you have a lot of friends that would turn their back on your around school… that sounded so much worse than I meant it to.”

Bram laughs. “You’re not wrong. But I think that’s part of the problem. If kids start acting like assholes about this, I only have Garrett.”

“And me,” I add quietly.

He looks up at me and his eyes look conflicted. I feel that same thing I did earlier. It would be so easy to kiss him right now in his dim, warm living room where we’re sitting side by side. So easy.

_ Blue _ , I remind myself.  _ Blue _ . I take a bite of an Oreo for something to do. “So tell me something I don’t know about you.”

He looks deep in thought. “I really like graphic novels,” he tells me.

“What’s your favorite?”

His face lights up as he describes one of the first graphic novels he read. He talks for several minutes about it and honestly, it’s really obvious that I’m crushing on him even if he’s oblivious to it.

When he finishes, I know I really am going to do something stupid like kiss him, so I climb to my feet. It’s still snowing outside and I look out nervously. It’s almost ten and I probably should be heading home, but I can’t drive when it’s snowing. It’s not sticking to the ground, but that doesn’t make the road any less hazardous.

It’s funny. My dad lived in New York for a few years when he was younger and the way he talks about it, it sounds like people drive in blizzards there. Maybe they’re more equipped for snow up north or something. The only time that I’ve ever driven when it was snowing, I backed out of my driveway and my car refused to stop so I took out our neighbor’s mailbox and then immediately pulled back into our driveway and vowed never to drive in the snow again.

“It doesn’t look like it’s slowing down,” I say nervously.

“If it doesn’t slow down soon, you’re welcome to stay the night,” Bram offers.

“Let me just clear it by my parents,” I tell him.

Ironically, I call home and my mom is the one to say that she wants me staying at Bram’s overnight. She even brings up the mailbox incident.

I’m suddenly almost painfully aware of how sweaty I feel and I’m sure I smell. “Anyway I can take a shower?” I ask uncertainly. I don’t know why I’m making it weird. I’ve showered at Nick’s place more times that I can count. But Nick’s been my best friend for forever, so I think that’s a little different.

“Of course,” he says like it’s no big deal. And I guess for him, it wouldn’t be. “Follow me. I’ll get you a towel.”

I follow him up the stairs and he gives me what may be the softest towel I’ve ever held. The bathroom he leads me to is huge. I take a minute to just look around. There’s a wall that extends about three quarters of the way across the bathroom. It separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom, so someone could feasibly be in the shower while someone else is brushing their teeth. The walls are a pale blue color and the theme is obviously sailing. I’m pretty sure my mom would love this. She’s all about themed rooms.

I hang my towel up on the hook by the shower and stay under the scalding hot water until the world starts to make sense to me again. Bram is being nice to me and that got in my head. It doesn’t mean anything. It takes me until the hot water begins to fade to convince myself of that.

When I get out of the shower, the bathroom is full of steam and I’m surprised to see that Bram dropped off a pair of pajama pants for me. My clothes from the day are gone and he didn’t leave me a shirt and it takes me several minutes to convince myself that he’s not going to laugh at the sight of my bare chest. 

When I walk back to his bedroom, Bram is sitting on his bed reading a book. He glances up at me and starts to look back at his book, but then his head snaps back up to stare at me. “You’re not wearing a shirt,” he says flustered. At least he’s not laughing.

“Yeah,” I say. I shift uncomfortably. “You didn’t leave me a shirt.”

“Oh. Right,” he says. He’s still staring at me and he makes no move to do anything else.

“And you took my dirty clothes,” I add.

He nods. “Yeah… I thought you’d be more comfortable tomorrow if I did a load of laundry. You might be wearing the same clothes, but they’ll be clean,” he explains.

I feel kind of flattered that he was so considerate. “Thanks. So, can I get a shirt?”

“Oh. Right.” it looks like it takes considerable effort for him to pull his eyes away from me and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. He climbs off his bed and pulls a shirt out of his dresser. It’s a little long on me, but I don’t mind.

I fall asleep almost immediately. I think I’m so exhausted after the day I had that nothing can keep me up. When Bram wakes me up the next morning, he’s already dressed for the day. We both grab granola bars on our way out. It feels weird to leave in separate cars when we’re going to the same place, but I’m going home after play practice, so it’s unavoidable.

First period, Bram and I check in with Mr. Wise and immediately head out to the hallway. I have my book in my backpack and Bram has two plastic champagne flutes his mom had left over from New Years.

“Okay, so I don’t know what to do about robes,” Bram says as we’re fine tuning our script.

“We don’t really need them today and I can bring them in for tomorrow,” I tell him.

“You just happen to have wizard robes on hand?” He asks amused.

“Yes and I’m not the slightest bit ashamed of that,” I tell him. I’m half laughing, so it’s really hard to sound serious, but I think I pull it off.

It takes us less than ten minutes to film what we need to film for the first chapter. We were able to borrow a tripod and camera from Mr. Reelly, the film teacher. Bram has this genius idea to carry me into the frame and actually put me down in front of the door to the classroom. Which because I can’t stop laughing equates to about eight minutes being spent in his arms like that. I don’t even care if he’s straight. This is magic.

Once we finish filming, I read aloud the second chapter. It started as a joke, but I guess both of us like it, because after a few minutes he closes his eyes to really take in the story.

When I get home after play practice, I immediately call Bram. “Hey,” he answers.

“Hey, I figured we should probably work on this script,” I tell him. “You okay with that?”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. “Obviously we have to do something with the snake.”

“Well duh,” I say to him.

The next day in English, Bram is kind of short with me as we film. This is honestly the very last thing I need, because I totally guessed wrong with Blue last night and now I’m kind of terrified that he’ll never talk to me again. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. I’d been so sure that Cal was Blue, in fact I’d been so sure of it I hadn’t thought of who else Blue could be and now I have no freaking clue.

When I read the third chapter, Bram sits against the lockers with his arms crossed.

Our days pass just like that. We film, I read the next chapter, and at some point after school we work on our script. We alternate whose house we work at and sometimes we do it over the phone instead of in person. And through that all, he’s angry with me. I try to figure out what I did and I try to get on his good side, but nothing works. The weird thing is that we don’t stop talking. There’s just an anger behind his words that gets more intense with every passing day. The weirder thing is the strangest sense of deja vu that I keep feeling. I don’t know why so much that he says sounds familiar.

And things are weird with Blue as well. Let’s just say everything freaking sucks right now.

By the following Wednesday, I can’t take it anymore. He comes over my house after I get back from play practice and the moment he’s steps into my bedroom, I ask, “what did I do to make you so mad at me?” I want to sound angry, but I just sound kind of broken.

I can’t help it. I don’t know what it is about Bram, but just when I felt like no one could possibly make me feel better about being outed to the world, he managed to do it.

“Nothing,” he grumbles.

“Okay, then what didn’t I do? You’re clearly angry about something,” I point out.

“God, are you really that oblivious?” he asks angrily. “You really don’t want it to be me, do you?”

Well, I guess I found my anger, because I’m shouting right back at him. “What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I have been dropping hints for days. When I asked Mr. Wise if we could work together on this project, I thought it would have been the perfect opportunity for you to figure out who I am, but you clearly thought I was someone else and you clearly don’t want it to be me,” he shouts.

“What are you talking about? Why would you have requested me to be your partner?”

“God, I was so stupid,” he says. “I thought you were different than every other guy at our school, but you’re all just the same. I let it go at first, because I really never gave you the chance to know who I was. But this last week and a half? I’ve done nothing but tell you who I am. I’ve done nothing but try to show you who I am. And I just… I can’t anymore. I thought telling you that my stepmom is pregnant would be a sure thing, but still nothing and I’m… I’m done. I’ll see you when I get back.”

He turns and leaves. Several things come to me at once. All those feelings of deja vu that I’ve been feeling are because I have heard some of the things he’s said before. Or more specifically, I’ve read them. He’d told me he had a mishap with a fried oreo at a carnival, and that he’s part Jewish, and that his mom’s episcopalian. Those are all things I’ve heard from Blue. Of course the baby should have been a dead giveaway. I’m so freaking stupid.

I’m down the stairs in record time. “Bram,” I call. He’s already out the door, but I can’t let him walk out. I ignore my parents who are hovering in the archway to the living room with questioning looks on their faces. “Bram,” I repeat when I’m outside. “Bram, stop. Please.”

I finally reach him and I grab his arm. He turns to face me and I finally understand that he’s not angry with me, he’s hurt. I don’t think and I don’t care that my parents are probably watching us through the windows in the living room. I don’t care that neighbors might be watching or that anyone could be walking by.

I put my hands on either side of his face and I have to stand up on my tippy toes, because he clearly doesn’t realize what’s about to happen. My lips only brush his and I look at him. I don’t know if I’m trying to figure out whether he wants this or whether he can forgive me, but either way I get all the answers I need when he crushes his lips to mine.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper in between kisses. But nothing is adequate enough to really explain how sorry I am, so I mostly just kiss him.

When we break the kiss for real, I hug him for a long time. I don’t realize I’m crying until a particularly violent sob wracks through me. I don’t think it’s a sad cry, I think I’m just a little overwhelmed with everything. “It’s okay,” Bram whispers. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not. You’re right. I should have figured it out earlier,” I say. My voice sounds about as cringe-worthy as I expect it to considering I’m crying.

“Why didn’t you figure it out?” Bram asks curiously. He pulls back from the hug so he can look at me. He wipes away my tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I wish I had an answer for you,” I tell him seriously. “I’ve been crushing on you since we first started talking last Monday, but the thought never crossed my mind. I just… I really thought you were straight and I have no idea why.”

Bram suddenly grins at me. “You’ve been crushing on me, huh?”

“Oh shut up,” I mumble.

“Make me.”

And I do. My eyes flutter closed and I’m pretty sure we could kiss for forever and I would still never get used to all the feelings I’m suddenly feeling. It’s a quick kiss, because I remember that we’re both standing outside in the middle of January and neither of us are wearing jackets and even though Bram is emitting heat, I’m freezing.

We go back inside and my parents are sitting on the stairs with these huge smiles on their face. “We have a project to work on,” I warn them.

“Yeah, we could see a lot of schoolwork that was happening,” my dad says sarcastically.

“That was…” I trail off. I don’t really know, because we haven’t quite gotten around to the talking part. “I promise, I will sit down with you as long as you like after Bram leaves.”

“How about we talk after dinner,” my mom suggests. “I think there are some things that Bram should be here while we talk about.” I glance at Bram and he nods. “Perfect. We’ll be in the kitchen. Dinner’s in ten.”

“We’ll be back down in a few,” I promise. My parents head to the kitchen and I practically run up the stairs. We don’t have long until my parents will be asking us questions. And we should probably have the answers to them.

I’m pretty sure that there’s some unspoken open door policy that should be in place with Bram, but my parents didn’t say I had to, so I firmly shut my door.

I sit down on my bed and Bram sits next to me. I wait until we entwine our hands to speak. “I really don’t want to rush this part, but we have about ten minutes to figure out the answers to my parents’ questions,” I tell him.

He nods. “What do you think they’re going to ask us?”

“How long we’ve been together, how we met, what we plan for this relationship, if we’re having sex. My dad will probably make some type of joke, but you can’t take him seriously. He doesn’t actually mean it. And my mom might go into therapist mode, but it’s just because she cares,” I tell him.

“Well, we can say no to any questions about sex and tell them that we haven’t talked about it yet.” There’s a slight crease in his forehead. “Obviously we’ve been together for approximately” - he glances at his watch - “thirty minutes. How much do you want to tell them about our emails?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t mind saying that we started emailing in August, but I’d prefer for them to not know much more than that. It’s kind of like you said. Need to know basis.” I almost feel guilty saying that and I know my parents hate when I don’t tell them stuff, but I don’t want a repeat of my coming out.

Bram looks at me hesitantly. “I don’t want to pry and I’m fine with telling them whatever you want to tell them, but I’m curious. Why are you so afraid to talk to them?”

“I never told you about what happened when I came out to them, did I?” I ask quietly. He shakes his head. “My dad asked me which girlfriend turned me.”

“Oh,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I shrug. “It is what he is. It’s not the first time. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

“It’s not the first time?” Bram asks. He’s looking at me as if he’s unravelling something inside of me.

“Nope. I mean, he doesn’t mean them. It’s not like he actually hates gay people. He just doesn’t have much of a filter when he thinks someone or something is gay.” Bram’s grip on my hand tightens uncomfortably. “He just says things and you know… it’s not always super helpful or necessary, but he doesn’t know… he can’t know how I feel when he makes jokes like that. It would crush him.”

“What about you?” Bram asks. “I can see that, even if you don’t believe he means them, his jokes hurt you.” He takes a shaky breath and I look at him uncertainly. “Are you sure you don’t believe them?”

“I mean, I know my dad loves me,” I tell him.

“That’s not the same thing,” he argues.

“I guess I try not to think about it too much.” I look away from him. I don’t want him to realize that he’s poking at fears that I’ve done my best to repress. “Because at the end of the day, what difference does it make? If he means it, that only hurts me more.”

He nods. “I guess I understand where you’re coming from.” He doesn’t sound particularly happy about it, but I get the idea Bram isn’t wrong a lot.

“One last thing to talk about. I’d like to introduce you to my parents as my boyfriend.” I try to sound nonchalant, but I feel like every cell in my body is buzzing as I wait to hear what he’ll say.

“I’d like that,” he whispers.

Even though I know it’s risky because my parents or Nora could literally walk in on us any second - I’m not stupid enough to lock my door, I lean up and kiss him. Honestly, I kind of wish we would never stop, because kissing him makes anything seem possible and I never want to forget that right in this moment, that’s how I feel.

But we do stop, because someone knocks on my door to tell me dinner’s ready.

Dinner’s weirdly quiet and I can practically feel my parents bursting with questions. “You might as well start asking us questions now,” I say with a sigh. I’m barely eating because everything feels a little hard to chew right now.

“We thought we’d wait until Nora finished eating,” my dad explains.

“Please. I can think of” - I do a quick mental count - “three different ways that Nora can hear what we’re saying without even having to put it an effort.”

My mom frowns and at first, I think she’s about to scold me for implying that Nora would listen into our conversation, but both Nora and I know she’ll know exactly what happens in here. She and I have listened in on enough of Alice’s conversations and I’m sure she and Alice have listened in on mine. “I can think of four,” she says.

My jaw practically drops. “Emily!” My dad says shocked.

“What? When Alice started dating in high school, I was curious so I got creative. I had a parental obligation to make sure she was being safe,” my mom says with a shrug.

“I rest my case,” I say. “So fire away.”

I think I made a REALLY good choice by letting Nora stay, because my parents don’t mention sex once. Mind you, they compensate for that by analyzing every teeny, tiny aspect of our relationship. But nothing about sex, so I’ll take it.

When Bram leaves to go home, it dawns on me that I might not see him until Tuesday. “When do you get back?” I ask him. The idea of going five days without seeing him is literally torture.

“Monday night. Too late on Monday.” The way he looks at me makes me think he’s realizing the same thing I am. Our kiss is a little deeper after that, a little more urgent.

“I’ll miss you,” I whisper in between kisses.

“I’ll miss you more,” he says. He has this mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I used to hate couples that did mushy stuff like this, but I kind of get it now.

“I’ll miss you even more than more.” I don’t know if that makes sense, but I’m past the point of caring.

He chuckles. “I’ll miss you most.”

I close my eyes and lean into the kiss. I don’t know what’s more than most, but I’ll certainly have time to figure that out while he’s gone. “You’re finding out the sex of the baby tomorrow?” I ask.

“Yeah. Her appointment is at noon, so I’m leaving bright and early just to sit in various rush hour traffics,” he says with a sigh. “It’s so weird that she wants me there, but she’s treating this like her reveal. Her parents are flying in from New Mexico to be here for it and everything.”

“You’ll have to call me afterwards,” I tell him. “I want to hear all about Savannah and your baby sister or brother.”

“I’ll call you everyday,” he promises me.

“And you’ll text me over the weekend?” I confirm.

“Every chance I get,” he assures me. “I’m only staying so long because it’s my dad’s turn to spend my birthday with me and there is no point in driving there to drive back here to drive back there. But there’s nothing to do in Savannah, so believe me - you’ll hear from me.”

“And we have to video chat on your birthday,” I warn him. “If I don’t get to sing happy birthday to you… I don’t know what I’ll do, but you won’t like it.”

He chuckles. “I don’t think there’s anything you could do that I wouldn’t like.”

That makes me blush and I’m kind of grateful that it’s dark. I never would have guessed that Bram had a side like this. Unfortunately that moment comes where he kisses me and gets in his car and drives away.

I’m in a pretty shitty mood at school the next day. I don’t know if it’s the explicit drawings that were put on my locker, the stupid comments that seem to be more prevalent today, or the fact that I know I’m not going to see Bram again until Tuesday, but my mood only gets worse as the day progresses. I don’t even think it’s just the fact that I’m not going to see him until Tuesday, it’s that we just got together and we’re already spending time apart. I always thought then when I figured out who Blue was, we’d be inseparable. By the time play practice gets out I’ve snapped at just about everyone I know and all I want to do is get home so I can call Bram.

No sooner do I park before my phone starts to ring. I’m surprised to see he’s video calling me, but I’m not about to complain. His face fills my phone and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “She’s having a boy. I’m going to have a baby brother. I’m scarred for life, but it’s definitely a boy.” 

“Wow! You’re gonna make such a great big brother,” I tell him.

“Got any pointers?” He asks.

I pretend to think about it. “Well, apparently it’s frowned upon  to ask your parents if they can return your baby sibling to the hospital, so don’t ask about that.”

“You didn’t,” he says, his eyes widening comically.

“I was like two and a half,” I point out. “And it had been a pretty dramatic pregnancy. Everyone was always crying and then they brought her home and she was always crying. There was a lot of crying. And she was getting all of the attention. Like all of it. Alice and I were pretty much forgotten the first couple of months she was home.”

“Wow. You’re really making this sound great,” he says sarcastically.

“Well, you probably won’t experience all that.” I realize a little too late that Bram might not think that’s a good thing. “I… I mean...”

“No, you’re right,” Bram says. He sighs. “I wish I could see him more often, but this is my reality. I’ll make a point of seeing him as often as possible. Maybe go down to Savannah two weekends a month or something. And stay for a couple of weeks over the summer.”

“That sounds like a pretty good plan.” I try not to sound disappointed. I’m barely getting through a single day without him. The idea of a couple of weeks over the summer and then multiple weekends a month without him is kind of torture. At least I won’t have to think about that until June.

“You’ll have to come with me of course,” he says matter of factly.

“Really?” I ask uncertainly.

“Of course. I don’t want to be one of those couples that’s always telling each other ‘I miss you’ when they are five minutes apart, but we’re four hours apart, so we get a pass. I miss you so much and it’s been one day. ” His face is so serious and I can really see it.

“I miss you too. School sucks without you. And you won’t get to see me in the play tomorrow,” I tell him.

“Garrett’s recording it for me,” Bram says with a small smile.

“You told him?” I ask surprised. “Is that why he was giving me weird looks all day.”

Bram rolls his eyes. “Garrett was giving you weird looks today, because he has about as much subtlety as the sun, but he won’t tell anyone. I hope that’s okay. I know we haven’t really talked about whether we’ll be out at school, but… I felt like I needed to tell him.”

“I get it,” I tell him seriously. “So Garrett’s recording it?”

He nods. “And I will be at every performance,” he assures me.

I know I’m blushing again and I get out of my car to distract myself. “You don’t need to go to every performance,” I tell him as I walk up my lawn.

“I want to,” he said seriously. He looks like he’s on the verge of saying something and I freeze. I’m like 99% sure I know what he’s thinking about saying and while I am 110% ready, I’m also 150% sure that I want it to happen in person. I shake my head. That’s too much statistics for me. He obviously decides against it because his next words are, “when are you going to tell Abby, Nick, and Leah.”

“Probably tomorrow,” I say without hesitation. I walk in and walk towards my bedroom as quickly as possible. “I might tell Nick tonight. I would have told them all today, but I didn’t know where you were at with that.”

Bram chuckles. “Yeah, we probably should have talked about that yesterday. I’m fine with whoever you want to tell.”

“Well, once I tell Nick, Leah, and Abby, all that’s left is the rest of the school,” I point out.

“True. Well, I’d rather be there when the school finds out about us,” he tells me.

“When do you want the school to find out?” His image suddenly freezes and I’m afraid we’re about to disconnect, but I guess he was just thinking about my question.

“I’m going to leave that up to you. I’m ready when you are and I don’t want to hide how I feel about you,” he explains. “But I understand that none of this has really happened on your timeline, so if you want a little bit of time before we let kids at school know, we’ll wait.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to wait,” I tell him seriously. “I don’t want to be on guard when I’m around you. You’re the only person that I don’t feel like I need to constantly watch myself around. Even before I found out you were Blue, I felt that way.”

He looks away at something. “Dad. You tell a guy when you’re going to awkwardly lurk in a doorway,” Bram says. His voice is a little squeaky. “We were just about to work on our project.”

I practically dive for my book and open to chapter 9. “Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley,” I read.

“Okay, he’s gone,” he tells me. I start to put the book away. “Don’t stop.” His voice is barely a whisper and for the first time, it occurs to me that Bram might actually like when I read aloud to him and that he might not be doing it because he feels bad for me. That kind of blows my mind because the longer I talk, the more my voice cracks and the more I mess up my words, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

When I finish reading the chapter, it occurs to me that my family usually would have started eating dinner already. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I skipped lunch today because I didn’t want to take my bad mood out on my friends. “I’ll call you after dinner,” I tell him.

“Bye,” he says.

“Bye,” I whisper after he hangs up. I hate goodbyes with a burning passion. They just seem so final.

I go downstairs and I’m surprised to see my parents and Nora had already started eating. My mom sees me when I walked in. “We didn’t want to disrupt you,” she says. “It seemed like you were actually working on your project.”

It’s a good thing that’s what it looks like to other people, because somehow reading Harry Potter to Bram is about so much more than the project. I eat kind of quickly and then because I feel guilty at the idea of immediately hermitting myself in my bedroom to call Bram back, I sit with my parents and Nora and talk about school and the play.

Nora points out that she’s going to see me perform for the first time tomorrow, which makes me inexplicably nervous, especially considering I don’t have any lines to mess up.

There’s no talk of Bram, which I’m kind of grateful for. It means they’re not making it this excessively huge deal. When I finish talking to them, I start doing my homework and call Bram while I’m in the middle of an Algebra problem.

“I need your brain,” I grumble when he answers. I put him on speakerphone. I didn’t video call him, because I’m pretty sure I’m not at my most attractive when I’m concentrating. “Algebra makes no sense.”

“Ooh, are you doing homework? Let me grab my textbook. We can work on it together,” he suggests. I hear him shuffle around.

“You know, most people don’t do homework on vacation,” I point out.

“Yeah, well some people would argue that most people are white, Christian, and straight. So why would I begin conforming now?”

“You got an A in debate, didn’t you?” I ask.

“Shut up.” I can tell he sounds pleased. “What’s the homework?” 

“Page 342 #3-23 odd. I’m stuck on 3.” I frown. It’s the letters. The moment they add letters, they lose me. It’s why I’m only in Honors Algebra 2 right now and not Pre-Calculus.

“Okay,” he says looking at the problem. “So we’re simplifying radicals. So you want to find the largest perfect square.”

“Yeah, I get that part,” I sigh. “But what the hell do we do with the x cubed?”

I’m pretty sure I hate everyone and everything by the time we finish our Algebra homework. Well… I don’t hate Bram, but this is the least I’ve loved him.

After Algebra, we talk about English. We got back our Dante’s Inferno papers today. Well, I got mine back. Bram is weirdly nervous about his paper.

“When’s the last time you didn’t get an A on an English paper?” I ask him to prove a point.

“At my old school,” he admits. “And it’s because my teacher actually hated me.” 

“Exactly.”

“You got an A on this paper too,” he argues.

“Yeah. I did a lot better with Dante’s Inferno than with Romeo and Juliet.” I’d gotten a B by one point on that paper, because Mr. Wise didn’t appreciate me calling Romeo and Juliet naive and impulsive. But they killed themselves without even thinking of the other. It’s complete BS.

“Not the biggest fan of Romeo and Juliet?” Bram asks.

“I think the ending is stupid,” I explain. “Like I get the idea of loving someone deeply.” I’m really glad I didn’t video call him, because my face feels so hot right now. “But people lose the people they love all the time and it sets a bad precedent to idolize suicide.” And then because if I’m gonna trash Romeo and Juliet, I may as well go all the way. “And hello? Juliet was thirteen. Some Capulet said that she hadn’t yet become a woman and one, gross that that was apparently common knowledge and two, that clearly means that she was too young to fall in love even in olden day standards. And I get it, Shakespeare based it off a poem that some other dead guy wrote, but Juliet was sixteen in that, so it’s on Shakespeare that she’s so young in his play.”

“Wow, you did a lot of research,” Bram observes.

“Yeah, well my paper was thorough. I think it’s ridiculous that people literally worship this underage couple that killed themselves in the name of love. And not because they had to. It would have been hard, but they probably could have figured out a way to be together. It’s just so… ugh,” I explain. Not my most eloquent argument, but Bram would live.

“I never really thought about that.” There’s a slight pause on the other end of the phone. “I guess for me, Romeo and Juliet has always been about the start of their relationship, rather than the end.”

“What do you mean?” I ask curiously.

“I guess for me, the idea of love prevailing despite the fact that the whole world is rooting against you… it just feels relatable sometimes,” he explains.

“Hmmm.” It’s the only sound I can make. My head is kind of spinning and I’m thinking of something that’s a little cliche, but I surprise myself with how intensely I want to do it.

The next day passes slowly and quickly at the same time. Despite what I told Bram, I don’t tell my friends about him. I think it’s my nerves or maybe the fact that someone changed my cast name to fag’s boy, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I also don’t have a lot of time to do it. The play performances don’t leave a lot of time for small talk. Plus, I figure I have until Monday.

However, Monday creeps up on me quicker than I mean it to. It doesn’t help that Bram and I literally spend every waking minute on the phone on Saturday. We do all our homework together, read a couple of chapters of Harry Potter, and put together a few more scripts, but mostly we just talk. I thought I knew practically everything there was to know about Blue, but I was so wrong. Bram adds a whole new dimension to Blue.

And Sunday I kind of have an obligation to stop ignoring my family.

So when Monday arrives, I’m out of time. I text all of my friends and suggest Waffle House for lunch. I think Abby’s still a little bitter that I didn’t go out with them on Friday, but I really needed to talk to Bram after the incident during the play. And she agrees to lunch, so she can’t be that angry.

I’m at Waffle House nearly thirty minutes early, because I paced around my bedroom all morning and my mom called it annoying and told me to leave. Really feeling the love mom.

By the time they arrive, I still haven’t figured out how to tell them that Bram is my boyfriend. It seems like a weird thing to just blurt out and I don’t want it to be this whole big announcement… though I guess I’ve already turned it into that. 

Abby arrives first. She’s almost ten minutes early.

“I didn’t hit any traffic,” she explains. She does live really far away, so it makes sense that she would leave early in case of traffic. “What’s going on?”

“Abby, can I run something by you?” I ask. She nods eagerly. Abby likes listening to people’s problems more than anyone else I know. “Let’s say I hypothetically have a boyfriend and all of you know this boyfriend, but I don’t want to make it a really big deal. How do I tell you about this boyfriend? Hypothetically of course.”

I have a feeling I confused her, because she’s frowning. “Well, hypothetically, I think the best thing to do is just tell us who your boyfriend is and understand that we’re literally gonna make this the biggest deal in the world, so you might as well accept that now.”

“Thanks. That was really helpful,” I say sarcastically.

“It’s only because we love you. This is your first boyfriend. It’s a big deal.” She looks like she’s ready to burst. I resign myself to this being a big deal.

Leah has just taken a seat next to me and is in the middle of asking Nick a question when I say, “Bram is my boyfriend.”

I have no idea what she was asking Nick and I think everyone at our table immediately forgets that she was mid-question as well.

Nick’s the one to break the silence. “Bram Greenfeld. My Bram Greenfeld? From soccer?” He asks. He looks like he can’t believe his ears.

“I think we can safely say he’s Simon’s Bram Greenfeld now,” Abby points out. She winks at me and my face gets warm. “Aww you’re blushing.”

I hide my head in my arms. I don’t mind this as much as I thought I would. Maybe it’s because Bram is a really big deal to me.

I’m still at Waffle House when Bram texts me that he’s leaving. He’s leaving almost two hours earlier than he planned and I literally could not be more excited. This means actual time with him tonight.

When I get back from Waffle House, I lay down on my bed with Bieber and wait for Bram’s phone call. It’s probably bad that he’s on my mind literally every second of the day, but we just got together. It’s going to take some time for it to not be so new and overwhelming. And I’m cool with it.

Around 8pm, Bram calls me. I have my shoes on before I even answer. “I’m back,” he says without waiting for me to say anything.

“Good,” I say breathlessly. I don’t say anything else and I almost immediately hang up on him. I’m sure he’s confused about that, but if he knows I’m coming, this won’t exactly have the same effect.

“I’m going to Bram’s,” I call to my parents as I’m running out the front door. I know that they don’t have a problem with it, because I’d told them earlier I was going to see Bram when he got back and I’m pretty sure I’ve been driving them nuts.

When I get to his house I park on the side of the street so he won’t be able to look out a window and see my car. Though I guess it doesn’t matter, because he’s going to see me in a minute.

I pick up some of the small rocks that surround the landscaped trees in his yard. I’d told his mom some of what I planned to do without going too much into detail and she was the one that told me about these small rocks. One of my favorite things about his bedroom is that he has a balcony. His mom gave him the room with the balcony and kept the one with the master bathroom. I guess those kinds of things matter to adults.

It’s remarkably convenient right now as I throw a rock at his window. I give it a couple of seconds before I throw two more in quick succession. Still nothing. I don’t dare throw them any harder, because I’m pretty sure I’ll break his window if I do, but I throw several all at once.

Finally, he appears. He looks confused until he looks down and sees me. “And you say I’m oblivious,” I mutter to myself.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou Romeo?” I call.

“I thought you hated Romeo and Juliet,” he says amused.

“But you don’t.” I climb the ladder that is resting against his balcony. Thank God his mom thought this was a cute idea. I don’t want to shout through this whole conversation.

“You’re crazy, you know that right?” He asks.

I ignore him and accept his hand as he helps me onto his balcony. I’m kind of out of breath after climbing the ladder and jumping onto his balcony so I take a minute. “When we talked about Romeo and Juliet the other night, I realized that even though that play is complete and utter crap, there’s a particular line in it that I really like.”

“What’s that?” Bram asks curiously.

I grab his hand. I feel so self-conscious. This is a pretty big thing for me to be doing and it’s not something I would have ever done in a million years if it weren’t for Bram. But after being apart for five days, I need him to know this. And I need to do it in a way that I know he’ll truly appreciate. 

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have. For both are infinite.” It’s like a scene from a movie unfolding and I don’t even care that it’s more corny and cliche than anything I’ve ever done. Bram is totally worth it.

It takes him a minute to understand what I just said, but I can see the exact moment he does, because even in the darkness of night, his face lights up.

“Oh blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, being in night, all this is but a dream. Too flattering sweet to be substantial,” he says.

“I don’t actually remember, but I’m assuming that’s what comes next in the play,” I say. 

He nods and his eyes are wide and full of longing as he looks at me. I’m not aware of leaning up to kiss him, but I must have because suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by the intensity of our kiss.

When we break apart, he looks at me with an intensity that would rival our kiss. I know what he wants. He wants me to say it and not through Juliet’s words. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back.

I hug him close to me and I don’t think I’ll ever let go.

It’s a good thing we spend so much time together the next week, because I don’t think we would have gotten the project done otherwise. And thank God that Bram is willing to put up with my exhaustion induced anger. Play practice goes until long after the sun sets everyday and Bram helps me get my homework done without setting my textbook on fire - and the thought occurred to me more than once.

True to his word, Bram comes to every performance and he despite how much work we have to do, he drags me to the carnival at the mall after the matinee on Sunday. I’m not gonna lie, I have a complete blast. 

We haven’t officially told the school we’re together yet. I didn’t realize until I pulled up to the school on Tuesday that I was actually afraid that kids at school could ruin what we had and I couldn’t deal with the stress of that on top of the stress of play. But when Bram and I walk towards the carnival I hold my hand out to him and he doesn’t hesitate. It helps that Nick and Garrett glare at anyone that so much thinks a homophobic comment around us.

I don’t realize how much I needed to do something normal with Bram until we get back to my place to finish putting together our project. By some miracle, we finished filming everything at school on Friday, but we’ve barely started our presentation. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up. When I open up my eyes, all I see is the grey of Bram’s shirt and it takes me a minute to realize that his arms are wrapped around me. He’s really comfy like this and I feel like I could fall right back asleep.

“Simon, you’ve got to walk Bieber.”

I sigh. “I’ll walk him in a min…” I suddenly sit up straight, realizing I never have to walk Bieber before school. I turn to look at my mom. I have no idea what to say to her. She’s standing in my doorway with an amused expression on her face and Bieber’s leash in her arms. I elbow Bram, which didn’t do much considering he woke up the second I sat up. 

“Walk him now. Then I think the four of us need to sit down and chat,” she tells me. “We’ll write you a late pass to school.”

“But English. And projects,” I say.

“Are you presenting today?” She asks with raised eyebrows. She knows as well as we do that we’re not.

“No,” I grumble.

“Then you’ll be fine.” She tosses me Bieber’s leash and suddenly Bieber is climbing all over us and he’s licking Bram’s face.

“Do you need to shower?” I ask Bram. He shakes his head. He still looks horrified. “Okay, well you’re welcome to stay here while I walk Bieber.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he follows me as I leave with Bieber, so I guess he’s coming with me. “What’s going through your head?” I ask when we round the corner.

“Honestly?” He asks.

“Honestly,” I say.

“I think last night was the best night of sleep I’ve ever gotten and I feel guilty for thinking that because…”

“Because my mom walked in on us like that?” I confirm. He nods. “Don’t worry about that. There’s no way they didn’t see us earlier. My mom does yoga at like 4am. If she thought anything happened between us, she would have woken us up earlier.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Plus, I’m sure you’re mom called at some point to make sure you were okay,” I point out.

His eyes widen and I can’t help but chuckle. For someone that has all his eggs in one basket, it’s clear that some of those eggs are scrambled. It’s kind of refreshing to see that he’s not always capable of thinking of everything. “So if she knows that we didn’t sleep together last night, then why does she want to talk to us?”

“Because one sex talk just isn’t enough,” I suggest.

“How are you so calm about this?” He asks frantically.

I shrug. “Because, what just happened was freaking awkward, but I think it was worth it,” I tell him seriously.

We take our time walking Bieber. Not that it helps. When we get back we are subjected to pretty much the same sex talk they gave me when Bram was in Savannah.

We end up being almost twenty minutes late to school and we interrupt English class in the middle of Martin and Claire’s presentation. If it were anyone else, I would probably feel bad about that. But it’s Martin and I’m out of shits to give about him. I can feel that people stare at us as we take two abandoned seats in the back of the classroom.

It doesn’t happen until lunch. I’m waiting for Bram by my locker when the very same football player that had pretended to kiss me my first day back approached me. “So, is it true?”

“Is what true?” I ask. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have said anything.

“That you’re banging another fag in this school,” he says.

How on earth could anyone think I was with someone and not realize that someone was Bram? 

I ignore him and open my locker for something to do. I’m pretty sure that Bram would have a heart attack if he could see what my locker looks like. I’ve been pretty intentional at keeping that from him because everything about him is clean and organized.

“Come on. Tell us about the fag your seeing,” he says. Still, I ignore him. “Come on. Tell us.” He suddenly slams my locker shut and the humor is gone from his voice. He’s all anger now. “Tell us who he is.”

“Hey,” I hear Bram say angrily. “Is there a problem here?” I’ve never heard Bram raise his voice like this before and I think most people feel that way because suddenly we have most of the hallway’s attention.

“Just trying to find out who Spier’s secret boyfriend is. But he hasn’t been helpful,” the football players says with a shrug.

“Right,” Bram says his expression tightening. “And why do you want to find this secret boyfriend.”

Oscar, this kid that is standing next to the football player nudges him and I’m pretty sure Oscar knows that Bram is my boyfriend. But the football player brushes him off. “I just want to know what’s wrong with him that he’d date someone like Spier.”

“Oh, is that all?” Bram asks sarcastically. “Well Bryson” - I guess that’s the football players name - “for the record, maybe Simon’s boyfriend is with him because Simon is a wonderful person. Because he’s thoughtful and considerate. Because he doesn’t believe in putting people down just to make himself feel better.”

Bryson snorts. “Gay people don’t feel things like that.”

Bram hands bunch into fists and he looks angry enough to actually throw a punch. I step in front of him. There’s no way in hell he’s getting into a fight over me. “Stop. Let’s just go to lunch,” I urge.

Bram looks up at me and I see the fight leave him. He nods.

Bryson puts his hand on my shoulder. “Greenfeld is the kid your with?” He looks like Christmas came early.

“Leave him alone,” I grumble.

“Or what?” He asks. I’m about to tell him ‘or else’ until I see the look in his eyes. And I just know that he’s never going to stop if I even try to threaten him with something.

I turn to follow Bram. He hasn’t quite realized that I’m not behind him and I don’t want to give him a reason to come back. Bryson has other plans. He grabs me and tugs my arm so I’m facing him again.

“Leave me alone,” I say. Before I have the chance to turn away from him again, he shoves me and suddenly people are shouting ‘fight, fight, fight!’

Everything from the last couple of weeks bubbles up in me. Martin outing me and all the times the choice of coming out was taken away from me and all the shit kids have been doing because I’m gay and that Bram is now gonna be targeted. I’m not a violent person, but something shifts in me when he shoves me.

Let it be known that I tried to take the high road and walk away. I did try. I don’t know when I actually punch him. I’m just aware of the excruciating pain in my hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I groan as I shake my hand. Well, I don’t think there’s anyway Bram won’t realize what just happened, because I am being pretty loud, but holy God this hurts. Isn’t punching supposed to hurt the other person? So why the fuck is Bryson laughing? Shouldn’t he be writhing in pain? Why am I the one in pain? The world is cruel.

Bryson punches me in the jaw, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as my hand does so I don’t think much about it. Suddenly I’m not the only one throwing punches. Except Bram apparently knows how to punch, because Bryson is holding his nose and Bram’s not holding his hand.

Unfortunately, we attract the attention of about six different teachers. And they all burst through the circle of students chanting about the fight - dead giveaway guys - at the exact same time. If I weren’t so sure that I am in a shitton of trouble, I would have laughed because it was hilarious to watch little Mr. Wise try to figure out how to break up a fight that quite frankly was already over.

We’re ushered to the principal’s office. I guess Bram and I are lucky, because we’re only suspended one day… well, technically a day and a half since we need to leave school now. We got off on provoking a fight. Bryson isn’t as lucky. He’ll be out of school for ten days. I don’t know how it happened that way considering none of us told Ms. Knight a single word about what happened in the hallway. Maybe she’s not as oblivious as she seems.

Or maybe she is, because everyone seems to have forgotten that I really messed up my hand. At least I think they do until Bram pulls out his phone when we’re in the school parking lot. “Hey Cathy. Can you page my mom and have her call me?” There’s a slight silence. “I’m on my way to the hospital and I’d like to talk to her before I get there.” Another pause. “Yeah, I’m okay and the friend I’m bringing in isn’t in dire danger or anything like that. I just need to talk to her before we get there.” Bram chuckles. “Thanks.”

He hangs up his phone and it’s ringing about thirty seconds later. “Hey mom,” Bram says nervously. His mom says something to him. “Oh, everything is pretty good. Simon’s parents were very hospitable last night. On an unrelated note, Simon and I got into a fight at school and Simon probably broke his hand, so we’re on the way to the ER.” Bram frowns as he listens to his mom. “Can you yell at me when we get there?” Bram’s frown only deepens.

_ Speakerphone _ , I mouth. He sighs, but puts his mom on speakerphone. She’s talking about how colleges will see that he got in a fight. “Mrs. Greenfeld?” I ask, interrupting her mid-rant. “It’s my fault that Bram got into a fight. This kid started to fight me and Bram was just defending me. I’m so sorry. The kid was saying… it doesn’t matter. Bram was really brave today.”

There’s a long pause on the other end and when she speaks, she doesn’t sound nearly as angry. “I may have been quick to jump to conclusions. We’ll talk when you get here. Don’t go in the ER entrance. Go in the visitor’s entrance. I’ll be waiting.”

“Thanks,” Bram and I say at the same time. It only takes ten minutes to get to the hospital and we drive in silence. It dawns on me right after his mom hangs up on us that I may have actually just ruined Bram’s future and I don’t know what to say to him after I realize that. And he’s clearly angry with me… and suddenly I’m terrified because I’m pretty sure he’s going to break up with me.

When we get to the hospital, we meet his mom at the entrance and she immediately sends me off to get my hand x-rayed. When I’m brought back to a room - in a wheelchair I might add, because some genius thought a broken hand meant I couldn’t walk - Bram and his mom cut off whatever conversation and I am given painkillers while we wait for a doctor that can cast me. The person that x-rayed my hand was able to tell that it’s ‘hella broken.’ Though, it may be unprofessional for them to call my hand hella broken, I kinda appreciate it. It doesn’t take long for the painkillers to kick in, but the weird thing is my hand still definitely hurts. Now, I just kinda feel like part of my brain is being tucked away into the rest of my brain.

Maybe the pain relief comes next. I look towards Bram. Suddenly, I can’t wait to find out. “Are you going to break up with me?” I ask.

“Why would you think that?” He asks confused. He’s not the best actor, so I don’t think he’s really confused. So maybe he doesn’t want to break up with me in front. But I don’t care if he breaks up with me in front of your mom.

“Because I just ruined your future,” I tell him. I feel my eyes sting. No! I will not cry. I can get through this. I’ll cry when I get home.

“You didn’t ruin my future,” Bram assures me.

“Yes I did. You got into a fight because of me. And you got suspended,” I point out to him. “That shit goes on your permanent record.”

Bram shakes his head. “My mom and I are going to appeal to the principal to get it taken off of my permanent record. Offer to do community service or something like that. We think I have a pretty good shot.”

“That’s what you two were talking about?” I ask shocked.

“Of course. What else would we have been talking about?” Suddenly I can’t stop laughing. Of course he’s not going to break up with me. Bram turns to his mom. “What’s in those painkillers?”

“For his hand? It shouldn’t be much stronger than tylenol,” she says. She’s looking at me alarmed. “Give me a minute.” She leaves and I hear her talking to someone. She comes back. “So enjoy this, because you broke your hand in three places and one of those breaks was the growth plate in your hand so you got the good stuff.”

“But my hand is done growing,” I say remorsefully. I wish I weren’t done growing, but I gave up on believing that I was going to have some kind of growth spurt at this point. Bram starts laughing. “What’s so funny?”

He glances at his mom. “Nothing. Mom, how long will it be before the orthopedic gets here?”

“Let me find out,” she sighs. The moment she’s out the door, Bram is standing in front of me.

“Do you want to know why I was laughing?” I don’t answer him. Instead I look at him curiously. “You shouldn’t be upset that you’re done growing, because I think you are perfect just the way you are. Your height makes it really easy to do this.” He brings his hand to the side of my face and kisses me deeply.

An uncomfortable cough brings us back to reality. “He’ll be here in a few minutes,” his mom says.

I don’t have room to feel embarrassed. “Thanks Mrs. Greenfeld. And thanks for being so cool about me and Bram.”

“Of course,” she says. She looks like she’s fighting a smile.

“No, but seriously. You are one cool mom. I mean Bram is your only kid. You could have been super pissed that he’s gay and that he loves me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bram’s mom turn to look at him. She looks thrilled about something, but I’m not sure what that something is. “But you’re like really great about it and I just… thanks for that. Because kids at school don’t get it, but you totally do and I really love Bram and you make this sooooooo much easier.”

My hand still hurts, but the world seems a little fuzzy to me. It kind of reminds me of Halloween when I got a little drunk off that beer.

“Well, you’re a really great kid and I’m thrilled that Bram found someone like you,” she tells me seriously.

I shake my head and for a second the world is spinning. “I’m only great because of Bram,” I tell her. I look right at Bram. “He makes me better.”

She looks like there’s something she wants to say, but then the orthopedic arrives and my hand gets casted. I pick the baby blue color. I never knew I got a choice in color. I just kind of figured they would grab whatever was closest to them.

Man, this is gonna look so great during our presentation tomorrow. I nearly take out the orthopedic when I try to turn to Bram as he’s in the middle of wrapping my hand. “Our presentation! We’re not going to be in school tomorrow.” My voice sounds a little panicked, but I kind of am.

“I’ll email Mr. Wise tonight,” Bram assures me. “And just think, we have all day tomorrow to work on our presentation.”

“I can email him too,” I say with a nod.

“Yeah, no. Not until those painkillers wear off.” He’s shaking his head and he looks like he’s about to laugh which makes no sense to me.

Finally, my hand is all wrapped up and we’re on our way out of the hospital. “Do you plan on telling everyone that we’re in love?” He asks me when I say goodbye to the security guard sitting at the front desk.

“Does it bother you?” I don’t know why the thought of that upsets me. We’d been pretty discreet until a few hours ago.

He glances at me as we walk to his car. “I love you and I love that you want the world to know that we’re in love. And that you apparently think I’m this perfect person even though I’m not. I just… I don’t know that the whole world is ready to know that,” he says honestly. 

“What if I don’t care?” I ask seriously. “What if I don’t care if the world isn’t ready?” I look him right in the eye. “I have never felt this way about another person before and it’s intense… too intense for one person to keep to themselves. And if the world can’t handle that, that’s on the world. But you make me so freaking happy Bram. And I can’t keep that to myself.” We reach his car, but he makes no move to unlock it. He finally looks at me. “Maybe you aren’t the perfect person, but you are perfect for me. I am so freaking in love with you, it’s distracting. I don’t think you believe this and I think I’m hella high on painkillers right now, so I’m gonna say it. You are literally an amazing person. You are so freaking smart, but your totally modest about it. And you’re funny, but not in a way that makes other people feel bad about themselves. You make me feel like I deserve you even though I never will. I am in love with you and I don’t care who knows.”

“Simon,” Bram says in a choked voice. He shakes his head as he walks around his car to stand by me. “You more than deserve me. You complete me. You’re everything I’m not and…” He lets out a shaky breath and holds both of my hands. “I’m just really lucky to have you in my life. You want to tell the world, you tell the world. Because if anyone deserves to feel free, it’s you.”

He brings his forehead down to mine and my eyes flutter closed. He doesn’t kiss me, but he doesn’t need to. This is enough.


End file.
